Frozen Water

We think of streams, rivers, and creeks as wild and untamed liquid highways.

Making their way downstream to join other bodies of water and ultimately in large lakes or possibly an ocean.

Juking and meandering around a flood plain is a natural state, but in towns and cities these waterways get funneled into concrete channels to accomodate us.

Instead of marshland, the water is ushered to its destination.  In places like the one pictured most of the time there isn't much more than a glorified trickle making its way under Main Street and shopping center parking lot.

Looking at the ten foot wide stream in winter, it's difficult to tell what lives beneath the ice.  From a bridge, it looks cold and shut off, offering just a peak at the energy below.

You better not walk on top as the current flows through - the tight channel will keep this ice too thin for all but the lightest of creatures.

The delicate fingers of ice reach over the water as living pieces of a puzzle anxious to create a new picture.

The water creates and erases at the same time - gurgling and splashing one drop at a time to the eager shards of ice.

Perched safely above the stream on a relatively warm day in the midst of a long frozen spell the ice looks like the air feels as it reaches into our warm coats with a long icy finger and dropping snow down our collars.

A tenetative step on to the air-pocketed ice leads to wet and very cold feet; better to be safe and dry on shore and allow the eyes and mind to dance across the surface.

Seen or unseen, the water washes on.  To Lake Michigan or Mississippi, the Gulf, or the Atlantic.  But, as it rolls on, it leaves some of itself behind - a still life.  Temporarily adding its art to winter's black and white canvas.